


drum beats out of time

by visiblemarket



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: 10 minute fic meme, Daddy Kink, John Constantine Kissing Dudes 2K14, M/M, chas chandler being a literal daddy bear, sappy fluffy nonsense idk, written in more than ten minutes, zed martin SERIOUSLY questioning her involvement with these people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well I was supposed to write all of these in ten minutes but tbh, that was not what happened:</p><p>1. John came down with a hellacious head cold and Chas is there working on making him feel better. (pre-John/Chas, in the Mucous Membrane days).</p><p>2. Chas gets turned into a bear (who can still talk). (Basically gen, although...)</p><p>3. John attempting to cook (for Chas). (John/Chas, established relationship, PG13-ish, some daddy!kink stuff)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. here’s to you, you old wreck

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for prompts on [my tumblr](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/113869005386/10-min-fic-challenge) like a week ago, supposedly ones I would write 10 minutes worth of fic for, but uh, I'm not great at timed challenges, so basically I plotted for ten minutes and wrote for a lot longer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chas gets back from the drugstore to find John attempting to scramble out of bed and wincing at every inch of progress he makes. He sighs, drops the paper bag he’s carrying on the desk by the door, and walks over to him.

“You goin’ somewhere, John?”

"Fuck off," says John, voice creaking; his lips are dry enough to crack and he drags his tongue over them. “We’ve a show tonight, I can’t—"

"Yeah, you’re damn right you can’t, not like—"

“‘m not—”

"Show’s cancelled, John, so you can—"

"You can’t bloody _do _—”__

__"I _can_ bloody do that, when you—”_ _

__"You’re not out bloody manager, Chandler, it’s none of your bloody business whether—"_ _

__"You’ve got a fever. You’re dehydrated as hell, you fucking passed out, I had to carry you—"_ _

__"Oh, my _hero_ ,” John sneers. “Such a—” and whatever he’s about to say is swallowed by a violent coughing fit._ _

__True to form, he manages to glare at Chas throughout, even as his body shakes and his lungs wheeze from the strain. And John’s 100% a pain in the ass, but he looks so utterly miserable, paler than usual, obviously exhausted, that Chas takes pity on him. Walks up to the bed, reaches over to pat his back. John convulses under his palm but the coughing stops, eventually, and Chas pats his back one last time before stepping away to retrieve the bottle of off-brand cough syrup._ _

__"Drink that," he says, holding it out to him, then notices the way John is looking at the bottle and thinks better of it. "Here, let me…" he cracks open the seal and pours the stuff into the little cup it comes with it. John watches him balefully the entire time, but drinks the recommended dose without a fuss. "Get back in bed."_ _

__John opens his mouth, probably to say something fresh, but seems to change his mind about it, and obeys._ _

__Chas takes the bottle and cup away to do what he can about cleaning it in the bathroom with hotel soap, and when he returns, John is curled up under the comforter. He’s on his side, and his eyes shut, but he’s too tense to actually be asleep. Chas presses a hand to his forehead anyway; still hot, unsurprisingly, and John doesn’t even take the opportunity to lean into his touch, just lies still and takes a shallow, pained breath._ _

__Chas sighs, walks around to the other side of the bed, and sits down. John has nothing to say about this, either, and it’s so unnerving that Chas reaches out again: John’s cheek is as warm as the rest of him, but it twitches at the contact and John grumbles something vague before pulling away from him._ _

__It’s enough of a sign of life for Chas to relax, at least, and he leans back, settling against the headboard and wishing he’d brought a magazine; watching John sleep isn’t exactly going to be a thrill a minute._ _

__*__

  
He wakes up with John sprawled on top of him and snoring lightly into his shoulder, neither of which is much of a surprise.

__John’s breathing is calmer, and his forehead, which is pressed to Chas’s neck, feels cooler than it had last night, but he’s so still, so quiet, where John’s always restless and running mostly on spite. It’s strange, but John’s in need of the rest, even if it comes at the cost of illness, and Chas doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to risk waking him, but thinks that maybe he should, anyway. John’s gonna need another dose of cough syrup, something to drink, something to eat._ _

__He thinks about it for a while, but doesn’t move, at least until John starts coughing again, less brutal than before but enough to wake himself up. Chas rubs his back, trying to soothe him, and when the coughing stops, Chas leaves his hand where it is and feels John nuzzle weakly against his throat._ _

__"Gonna get you sick, aren’t I," rasps John, his dry lips scratching at Chas’s skin._ _

__"Maybe," Chas says, feeling a tightness in his chest that he’s more than willing to chalk up to impending illness._ _

__“Good,” John says, rolling over and back to his side of the bed. “‘d serve you right.”_ _

__Chas sighs. Yeah. Yeah, it kinda would._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/114021390581/10-minute-fic-prompt-john-came-down-with-a). Thanks for the prompt, anon!


	2. bear with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It'd started off as a normal day, or as normal as it gets when John Constantine is in your life.

She's woken up. Eaten breakfast. Gotten the grocery list from Chas, who'd planned to spend the day cleaning out the kitchen and making sure John didn't burn the house down (technically there were wards against this; if there was anyone who could get around that, it'd probably be John).

It wasn’t that they were afraid to leave John alone, exactly; it was just that he'd been distracted lately, jumpier and snappier than usual, and spending a lot of time pouring over old books and whispering to himself. Zed got the impression that when that happened, trouble was coming. Probably more so than usual.

But they'd had a bit of downtime that morning, and she'd been in need of supplies, and fresh air, and someone else to talk to. And so she went, and came back, and was walking down the spiral staircase with her headphones in and several brown paper bags balanced carefully in her arms, when she reached the last step, looked up, and screamed.

The bags dropped; her headphones fell out of her ears; she tried to take a step back and bumped into the staircase and almost tripped, managing to grab the metal stair rail to right herself.

"Ah, there you are, love, weren't expectin' you back quite so early--"

"John," she said, hearing distant calm in her own voice, if only from shock.

"--would've rung you and told ya, but we'd thought we'd have it sorted before ya--"

"John," she tried again, and he stopped ruffling through a bunch of papers on the table. The tense line of his shoulders and the not-slight quiver of his hand gave lie to his attempt at looking unconcerned, and his smirk wavered.

"Yes, love?"

"There is a. Bear. In the...in the house?" Maybe it was a vision. Maybe she was going insane. Maybe John had...needed a bear. For some reason. It wouldn't be the strangest--no. No, it would be.

"Right, well, could hardly get him outside, could we? Wouldn't fit up the stairs."

Zed could admit this was true. The bear was very large, and very still, and very much watching her with big, gentle eyes. She took a breath. A thought occurred. "Where's Chas?" because of course, Chas would not let John have a bear in the house; Chas barely let _John_ into the house, sometimes, when he got himself covered in mud or water or who knew what else John tended to get covered in. 

John looked at her like she was insane, or possibly stupid, and then he looked at the bear. "She can't hear you?"

"Are you talking to the _bear_?" she said, valiantly battling hysteria, and losing, as she leveraged herself down onto the steps behind her and sat down.

John looked back at her and spoke, more gently than he had in a while. "Chas is--Chas is the bear, love."

“Wh—what?" she stuttered, though, looking at the bear again; the bear looked at her, and damned if his big, hazel eyes did not look familiar. His fur was thick and dark, the color of Chas's hair, though that wasn't exactly unusual for a brown bear. A bear. A _bear_. "Right. Chas is a bear. How did...?"

The bear looked at her, and then glanced at John, and then back at her, with an expression that could only be classified as long-suffering commiseration, and it was _that_ , more than anything else, which finally convinced her. She brought her hands to her mouth and started laughing. Of course. Why not. She had visions, John did magic, Chas regenerated, and was apparently also a bear now.

John frowned, and put his hands on his hips. "Right, well, glad to amuse. Now get over here and help us find something to reverse it, yeah?" She blinked at him, and the bear (Chas. _Chas_.) made a grumbly sort of noise. John rolled his eyes. "I wasn't being a prick."

"You can...he's talking to you?"

John ran a hand through his hair as he nodded; by the state of it, Zed figure he'd done so quite a few times lately.

"What's he saying?"

"That he's sorry he scared you when you came in. And to thank you for bringin' the saffron."

"Tell him I--" but no, he could hear her, she should--she got up, and approached him. His dark, warm eyes were very calm. "You're welcome," she said, and pressed her palm against his shoulder.

"Don't think you should--"

_Bright light. Rush of air. Shrinking, shifting, sharp burst of pain, and then_ not _pain--John?_ John? _\--warmth, concern, and--_

“Still haven’t learnt that lesson 'bout keeping your own bloody hands to yourself, have you?"

"I'm fine," she snapped, pulling out of John's grasp.

"Yeah, I don't recall askin'."

She glared at him, but retreated to the other side of the table. There were a great deal of old and crackly sheets of parchment, and books stained with what she hoped was only age.

She cleared her throat; John looked up at her. "I almost hate to ask..."

John sighed. "Ask."

"Did you...did you try to obvious?"

"Not gonna kill him in on the off chance he'll come back human. Be a bloody waste of one of his lives even if it worked, and if it didn't--" he glanced back at Chas, who was giving him a long, almost fond look, and then away, as he reached for the cigarettes he kept in his pocket.

"That wasn't..." god, how would she even say it? "That wasn't what I meant, by 'the obvious'."

John blinked at her, his hands shaking a little as he flicked his lighter. "What'd you mean, then?"

She cleared her throat again. "Y'know, in...in fairytales. When someone is…transformed. Into an animal. To turn them back, you usually--"

John laughed around the cigarette he was smoking. "You want me to find him a bloody princess to kiss? Sorry, love, don't think that's happening. Me 'n' royalty are not precisely on the best terms, at the moment. Can't exactly ring up Buckingham Palace and--"

"It's not about royalty, John,” she said, carefully. “It's about love."

John's eyes went wide, and he coughed up the recent inhale of smoke from his lungs. "Love? You want me to try an' get _Renee_ down here? We'd've better luck with the bloody Queen!"

She resisted the urge to smack the back of his head.

"I'm not--I'm not talking about his ex-wife, you idiot! I'm talking about--"

"Me?" John said. "Christ. No, that won't bloody work, what're you--"

"It doesn't have to be romantic," she said, more to give him an out than anything; not that he deserved it, certainly, but he still looked shaken enough that she took pity. "He's your friend. What harm would it do?"

"What harm would it--" John groaned. "What _harm_ would it bloody do? Right, well, no bloody harm at all, I supp'se, I'll just walk over," and he did, narrating as he went. "Just bloody walk over, wrap an arm 'round his neck, and just--" and John pressed a quick kiss to the side of Chas's head, right beneath one of his pointy ears. There was a _pop_ , a sudden change in air pressure in the room, and then--

"Chas?" John said, weakly.

"John," said Chas, slowly, as if getting used to human vocal cords again. "I'm--" he started, before John threw his arms around him in what looked like an almost painfully tight hug.

Naked, Zed had the feeling he’d been about to say. Because he was, very much so, and while that had been fine when he was a bear, now, it was probably slightly more concerning. Though not, apparently, for John, who was still wrapped tightly around him, and did not seem likely to move any time soon.

Chas met her eyes over John's shoulder and mouthed something that looked like 'thank you'; she smiled, and mouthed back 'Clothes?' Chas nodded his thanks even as he started gingerly patting John's back.

And so Zed exited, pursued by no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/114469443056/ladyhedoniste-replied-to-your-post-10-min-fic). Thanks, [LadyHedoniste](http://ladyhedoniste.tumblr.com/)!


	3. between the third and fourth rib

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're not supposed to flip those more than once."

John sighs, flips off the burner, and turns around. "That's it. Out."

"What?"

"You heard me. Bugger off, I'll come get you when it's done." Chas throws a pointed look around the kitchen, to the many flammable objects in its immediate vicinity, and then back at John. John rolls his eyes. "'m not gonna burn the bloody house down, mate."

"I didn't say you--"

" _Out_ ," John says, flicking the nearby dish towel at him. Chas is good mate with a considerable set of skills and John’s generally appreciative to his expertise, but if there's a worse backseat driver in the entire world, John has yet to meet them. It's friggin’ impossible to get anything done around Chas if he thinks he could do it better, and cooking is, admittedly, something he can do better. But it's breakfast; John can manage, _has_ managed, to make breakfast, on his own, without Chas hovering and commenting and eventually taking the pan out of his hand and doing it himself. It'd be a hell of a lot easier to let him, certainly, probably put the both of them more at ease anyway, but that's not what this bloody disaster of an idea's about, is it?

Chas laughs at him, but leaves, calling out behind him as he goes: "Scratch that pan and you're buying me a new one."

"Yeah, yeah," John grumbles, though they both know he won't, and flicks the burner back on. He takes a drag from his cigarette, then sets it back down on the saucer he's been using as an ash tray. _Right_ , he thinks to himself. _Pancakes. How hard can this be?_

*

He plops the full plate down in front of him without fanfare, and Chas looks up at him with very poorly disguised amusement; the man's got no poker face at all, and John can't think of why he bothers keeping him around. Chas reaches out; his large, warm hand wraps around John's wrist, shadowing the bruises from the night before, and gives him a gentle, thankful squeeze. John suppresses a shiver. _That_ , prods a smug, vicious part of himself. _That's why._

"Nothing for you?" says Chas, who's in the midst of pouring syrup over pancakes, sausage, and potatoes alike.

“In a bit."

Chas shrugs and drops his gaze to the plate in front of him, meaning John can watch as he cuts a precise wedge and bring it to his mouth. Chas chews, carefully, and reaches for his cup of coffee. He takes a sip, swallows, and then looks back up at John. “Come here."

“What?” John says, staying put; Chas raises his eyebrows, and John goes.

When he’s close enough, Chas wraps his hand around John’s wrist, firmer than before, and tugs. John swallows a grin and lets himself be dragged, none-too-gently, onto Chas’s lap. It’d've been easier to straddle him, probably, but Chas wraps an arm around John’s back and John half-turns to face him, pressing his palm to Chas’s chest.

"Oh," John says, breathy, nuzzles their noses together before pulling back enough to see Chas roll his eyes."Did I do a good job, then, daddy?"

Chas cups John's chin in his hand and gives him a quick peck on the lips. "You did a very good job."

John smirks easily, as if the praise hadn’t sent a warm shiver up his spine.

“Such a good job you only wanted one bite?"

“Such a good job I wanted to thank you right away,” Chas says, and he does: guides their mouths together, then drops his hand to John’s sternum; his palm is so broad and warm that John’s entire chest aches, burning with the sudden, irrational need for direct contact. He slings his arm around the back of Chas's neck and drags himself closer, chasing the taste of coffee and syrup on Chas’s tongue, twisting in Chas's lap and running a hand through Chas’s hair.

They snog for a bit; it’s pointless, not leading to anything, because Chas is steadfast in his refusal to fuck anywhere but in a bedroom and on a bed, but pleasant all the same. When they separate, John’s hard, and breathless, and can feel Chas’s considerable erection straining against the underside of his thigh. John grins, and leans in to whisper in Chas’s ear. “You wanna fuck me right over the table, don’t you? Rough and fast, hard enough to knock the air out of me. That what you want, _daddy_?"

Chas’s cock twitches against John’s thigh, but his voice is steady when he speaks: “I’d rather finish my breakfast, actually.”

John blinks. “Right. Well. It’s-- it’s your loss, mate,” he says, moving to stand so he can retire to the kitchen and nurse his wounded ego.

Chas chuckles, grabs him by the shirt, and pulls him back down. Kisses him again, open-mouthed and brutal, leaving John dizzy for want of air, then drags his mouth away and keeps John from following with a firm hand against his chest.

“Wash the dishes, okay?” he says, voice low and full of promise. “And then we’ll talk."

John leans back into Chas’s arms, and lets himself grin. “Whatever you say, daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/114474912181/tastymoves-replied-to-your-post-prompting). Thanks for the prompt, [tastymoves](http://tastymoves.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
